


Faint Reminiscence

by Oliver__Niko



Series: Warrior/Mage AU [1]
Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Angst, M/M, Mages, Romance, warriors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-01 13:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16285286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver__Niko/pseuds/Oliver__Niko
Summary: Five years ago, a warrior named Sorey lost something precious to him. He has no memories of what, or who, this is. All he has is a gut feeling to rely on, as well as a mysterious gold circlet left behind.He travels across the entire continent in search for them, his friends doing their best to guide him and help him find his answers.





	1. Something Missing

**Author's Note:**

> Here is something I've been writing on the side of SoCS for some time now! It was originally meant to be a oneshot, but I ended up making it far too long to be one, so I found a place to split it into two parts instead.
> 
> I'm really happy with this fic, so I do hope you enjoy it. Thank you for your interest in reading this fic! I'll likely have part two up in a week, and will try to post art to go with it on social media in between these uploads.
> 
> Enjoy!

It is an utterly blissful night. Above Sorey is a clear sky full of stars, void of all the tragedies the world faces. Sorey too is without negative emotions tonight. A bouquet of roses is held in his hands. Mikleo has been nose-deep into his magical studies as of late, studying from noon until dusk with only a few breaks. The thought of surprising him with something simple yet touching brings a smile to Sorey’s face.

He hums to himself under his breath as he walks over to Mikleo’s house. Perhaps soon, he will ask Mikleo to live with him, even marry him. Though not just yet; whilst they have been lovers for two years, they’re still only eighteen, which still feels rather young. He doesn’t want to be a distraction to the mage’s difficult work.

It is still a pleasing thought however, causing Sorey’s spirits to soar even higher. Yes, outside of their peaceful village of Camlann, there is chaos caused by the monsters which gather. But they are both training in order to protect themselves, the people in the village the same. The world is slowly fighting back. And this strength allows people to focus on more than survival.

Sorey walks up to Mikleo’s house. Mikleo lives with his mother and uncle, although the two are currently taking a trip together, Mikleo requesting to stay behind to continue his studies. It is yet another admirable thing about him. Mikleo adores exploring after all, never one to like staying in one place.

A smile remains, until Sorey walks to the gate. He frowns as he takes hold of its handle. Something doesn’t feel right. He cannot put his finger on it, but uneasiness has suddenly crept over him, the creaking of the gate he pushes open sounding louder than it is through his concentration …

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his heart missing a beat, when he hears a blood-curdling scream.

“ _MIKLEO!”_ Sorey bellows, part of him knowing that shouting may do more harm than good, yet he is far too blinded by panic to think straight. He drops the roses and barges into the home, thankful it is only one floor. He dashes through the house, trying to find the source of that petrifying scream – he finds it through the sound of a drawn-out moan of pain, chilling Sorey down to the bone.

‘ _His study,’_ he thinks, sprinting over to this very room. He skids to a halt at the doorway. The sight inside stuns him to the spot.

Mikleo is being held up into the air by a hand around his throat. A dark purple smoke emits around him; Sorey has no idea what this smoke is, but is certain it is the cause for Mikleo’s agony. But what is the most surprising is who the hand belongs to.

“S-Sorcerer Heldalf?!” he gasps out in horror. Camlann’s protector, why would he … no, Sorey cannot think over this. He has no time for that. “Release him!” Sorey instead roars. Heldalf lets out a cruel laugh.

“A warrior, are you? Am I supposed to be _threatened,_ even while you are unarmed?”

“Unarmed, you say?” Sorey snarls, removing a knife from the belt underneath his shirt. He is still learning to harness the little magic he has into weapons, skilled but not yet at his full potential, but Mikleo –

“D-Don’t, Sorey,” Mikleo gasps out, opening one violet eye. “You can’t … can’t fight him – _a_ _rgh_ _!”_

The smoke increases, and when a light bursts from Mikleo and shines in Heldalf’s eyes, what exactly is happening clicks. Heldalf is consuming his mana.

Heldalf brings Mikleo closer, seeming to relish in his cries of pain. “Such great power, but unable to be harnessed by the vessel which contains it … But for another, it is possible to use. You will be of great use to me.”

“Like Hell he will!”

Sorey launches himself forward, anger and a desperation to save his lover taking over his fear and sensibility. But even with his speed, Heldalf is ready for him. A blast of black light is conjured in the man’s spare hand. It collides with Sorey’s stomach, throwing him back, yet luckily, he is fairly unscathed. He gets to one knee, watching as Heldalf throws Mikleo down onto the floor carelessly.

“You truly believe that you can save him?” Heldalf questions. “A student? One with little magic ability, no less? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes, if it’s to protect him!”

“Sorey, you …” Mikleo can force out no more words, unable to tell Sorey to stop.

“A recklessness that only an innocent youth can yield,” says Heldalf, seeming amused. He makes no moves to stop Sorey from getting to his feet. However, there is something else to stop the boy in his tracks. He gasps and steps back when a line of black and purple fire erupts in front of him, able to feel its heat even after backing away.

“Ah, such _anger …_ You can tell how strongly the warrior must feel for his precious little mage.”

The voice belongs to a petite girl who now walks onto the scene. Sorey has seen her a number of times; she is a well-known sorceress, assistant to Heldalf, although her precise power is uncertain. She strides forward, giggling as she makes eye contact with Sorey before joining her master’s side.

“What do you guys want?” Sorey demands. His plan is to stall time whilst he figures out how to get around these flames surrounding him. “What do you need him for?”

“All mages hold a certain amount of power,” Heldalf says, glancing at the form of Mikleo, still crumpled on the ground as though all strength has been sapped from him. “Those with white hair are rumoured to be the strongest of all. Only there is a limit to how one can use their own power without causing grave damage to themselves.”

“But that doesn’t mean that we can’t work our way into his core, stealing that magic for our own,” Symonne says, crouching down. She holds up Mikleo’s face by his chin, smiling sweetly at Sorey. “It is for the good of the world, you know. The more power we have, the more we can fight the monsters which terrorise poor civilians. There is likely someone dying at their very hands as we speak …”

“Regardless of the reason, I will not let you use him!” Sorey shouts, his eyes still bearing fury. Both merely laugh at this retort.

“Don’t worry, we will take good care of him,” Symonne continues, enjoying her taunt. She brings Mikleo’s face closer to hers, running her fingers down a cheek lined with sweat. “Although if he becomes an empty shell after all the agony he is put under, when all his magic is –”

These words on their own are enough to provoke Sorey. He cries out, jumping through the fire in front of him – of course, it’s an illusion, such a thing cannot hurt him for real, even if the burning of his body feels as though this is the case … He swipes his knife towards Symonne, conjuring lightning into it. The girl dodges and whistles.

“Not bad for a novice!” she laughs. Sorey takes no time to look at her, his hands hold up Mikleo by his shoulders, panicking when it seems like the other is losing consciousness. He has no time to do anything either before he is forced back by Heldalf once again. This time, this dark magic also piles on top of him, causing him to gasp with pain as it pins him down against the floor on his stomach.

“Such conviction to save your little mage!” Heldalf exclaims, his eyes growing excited. “That passion, the love you must feel for him … I have never seen anything of this calibre.”

A wicked smirk grows on Symonne’s face. “We can use that to our advantage, can’t we, my Lord?”

“Yes … Though nothing can interfere with their love, the same cannot be said for their memories.”

“Memories?” says Sorey, a cold chill running through his entire body. He sees Mikleo’s eyes open, still conscious and alerted by the same word.

“That is right, young warrior,” says Heldalf, grinning maliciously. “Memories hold a strong power on their own, perhaps even enough to be called magic. And with such strength and emotion behind your memories …”

“… We can use that for our own power, use it as the chains which will bind the mage to us!” Symonne says, letting out a delighted laugh. Sorey feels his heart beat faster and louder, his dread increasing more with each passing second.

“Of course, should we use the memories you hold, as well as anyone else who knows of this mage, you will no longer have them yourself,” says Heldalf. “The mage will be imprisoned, with no knowledge of his lover, family, friends, and you will no longer remember him in return … That will only strengthen his captivity, unable to be broken unless your memories return of one another.”

“You can’t,” says Sorey, fear evident in his voice for the first time. “You can’t do this!”

“We can, and we will,” Symonne says simply, giggling once again.

“I-I’d go with you willingly, as long as you let us –” Mikleo begins, but Symonne immediately interrupts him.

“Save your breath. We know too well you will try to escape. But this … oh, there will be no way! No possible way for you to save your pretty neck!”

“So it begins,” Heldalf says, raising his hand. A light forms inside it, before it ensnares the two boys, both shrieking out simultaneously. Mikleo looks up, tears of pain forming in his eyes, yet he still reaches underneath his fringe with a weak, trembling hand, knowing that they have lost.

“S-Sorey, please … take …”

The last fragment of consciousness breaks. As it does so, Mikleo’s hand falls down in front of Sorey. The circlet he has worn for years, a gift from his mother, lays in his palm. Sorey’s eyes widen. He struggles forward, grasping onto the circlet, barely able to hear the laughter of those who have caused this, who clearly think that this mere accessory will do nothing against their plans.

He will prove them wrong. He will prove that they cannot stand between them. Nothing has, and nothing ever will, even without their memories.

“I won’t forget,” Sorey says through panted breaths. “I will never forget you! And even if I do, I’ll still find you, no matter what. I … I’ll always … f-find …”

Laughter echoes in his ears as his head slumps down on the floor, precious circlet in hand, as darkness consumes him.

 

* * *

 

A large tanned hand reaches above green eyes to shield the sun. He smiles, a gentle breeze ruffling through his hair, as he looks over the village of Camlann. Finally, he is home. As much as he does adore his travels, it is still a wonderful feeling when he returns. Especially since the village became even more protected by the increase of its protector’s power five years ago.

He walks into the village, one hand holding onto the strap of a rucksack slung over his shoulder. As a cherished villager _and_ a noble warrior, there is an immediate reaction to his return, with welcoming cheers and waves in his direction.

“Mr Shepherd!” a child yells, running forward with his friends. Sorey grins, reaching down to ruffle the child’s hair.

“What did I say about that, Thomas?” Sorey questions. “You can just call me Sorey.”

The child grins. “What did ya do? Kill any monsters?”

“Ah … at least a hundred?” says Sorey, a hint of triumph in his voice. The children gasp in awe. An old lady, however, lets out a small sigh.

“You better not be pushing yourself too much, now,” she says, Sorey shaking his head.

“Nah, it’s a piece of cake! The only trouble I came across was in Westronbolt Gorge, but I had Lailah help me.”

“Ah, Lailah,” the woman says. “You have told us many stories about the mages you befriend on your journeys. You should bring them back here one day.”

“Uh, sure,” Sorey responds, not wanting to mention that he has done so a number of times already, yet the woman’s memory is not the best these days. “Anyway, I should better head home. Mom probably wants to see me again.”

“All right, you take care now.”

“Bye, Sorey!” Thomas exclaims, the other children doing the same. Sorey smiles brightly and waves, before he walks towards his home. He is most looking forward to returning home. His mother’s cooking is something he will never pass on, not to mention the pang of disappointment and shame in his heart for not finding anything once again on his journey.

As he walks closer to his house, he glances to another one he has always had a connection to. There, his eyes find a figure in the gardens, her mousse-brown plait falling over her shoulder as she bends over to water the flowerbeds.

“Good afternoon, Muse,” Sorey greets her with as he walks over to the gate. The woman straightens up, giving him a friendly smile.

“Ah, you have returned,” says Muse. “How was your journey?”

“It was great, I got a lot done! I … I didn’t find anything, though.”

Muse’s face grows crestfallen. “I see. I suppose it cannot be helped. We are only going by our gut feeling, after all.”

This ‘feeling’ has been something which has stuck with them for the last five years. It is so vague, so subtle, that you can only really notice it should you focus. The feeling that something is missing. After some time, Sorey had been able to decipher that it is _someone._ But it is such an absurd emotion, based off no fact and with no evidence to speak of, that it is difficult to say if it is even real.

In fact, if Muse and Michael had not felt the same as Sorey, he might have given up on this feeling some time ago.

“I’ve kept the circlet anyway, just in case it belongs to anyone,” says Sorey. “No one seems to know who it belongs to, though.”

Muse lets out a sigh. “Michael reaches no answers either on his travels. I … really am starting to believe that there really is nothing to find. Perhaps the wave of power that Heldalf and his assistant conjured played with our minds a little weirdly …”

“Yeah, high amounts of magic do have weird effects, after all,” Sorey agrees.

“Exactly. Although if I stopped searching for an answer for these instincts, I feel as though I will never feel better about it.”

“Me neither,” Sorey murmurs, before he brings himself to smile, his tone growing brighter. “I’ll keep looking. Maybe something will come up one day.”

“Thank you for your efforts,” Muse says, bowing her head. “Would you care to stop for dinner with us? Michael should be returning home within an hour.”

Sorey scratches the back of his head. “Ah, I know it’s difficult for me to pass on _your_ cooking, but I kinda want to spend some time with mom first.”

“That is completely understandable. Say hello to her from me?”

“Of course! I’ll see you later, Muse.”

He parts with a wave to the woman, continuing to stride down the path. He is greeted by a few more excitable villagers on the way, yet is soon arriving at his own house. His hand reaches to the door in front of him, knocking in a certain rhythm he and Selene have developed for each other, before he opens it and enters.

“I’m home!” he calls, shrugging off his cloak. A figure immediately enters the doorway, a bright smile on her face.

“There you are, it took you long enough!” exclaims Selene. “How were your trips? Could’ve at least sent a letter, you know.”

Sorey grins sheepishly, now taking his boots off. “Sorry, mom. I was all over the place doing errands.”

“As long as you share some of that cash with me, I guess.”

“Again, sorry, because a lot of this will be donated.”

“Typical.” Yet he knows she’s completely joking. Her face expresses pride. She steps forward, letting out an exaggerated sigh as she brings her hand above her head and gestures it towards Sorey. “And will you _please_ stop growing?”

“I’m twenty-three,” Sorey responds with amusement. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already stopped.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” she groans, grinning when Sorey lets out a laugh. “Come on, I’ll make dinner a bit earlier since you’re home. Why not go get yourself into something more comfortable?”

“Ah, that’s a good idea. I’ll be back in a minute!”

He pats her head, much to her irritation, as he ventures to his bedroom. Here, he places his bag down on the bed. Reaching inside, he pulls out a couple of artefacts he managed to acquire. Smiling, he carefully slots them on the shelves which are already bursting to the brim. There are some of these scattered around all over the house from his travels. After all, he encounters a number of ruins when he goes on a journey, and inside those ruins are a great load of treasure waiting to be found.

This passion has always sparked in him. He is not sure how it started and who he first ventured with, but it is still as strong as ever regardless.

Before he changes his clothes, he marks an ‘x’ on the map of Glenwood which stretches far across his wall. He steps back to inspect it. This map abounds with hundreds of these marks. Now, he has crossed practically all possible areas of the continent. Ruins, towns, cities, abandoned villages – he’s certain that he has located every important location, anywhere which could be a source to him.

Yet he still remains in the dark about who he has forgotten.

His eyebrows furrow as he frowns. A single gloved hand reaches for his bag, pulling out a tied pouch. Inside is the mysterious golden circlet. The centre is adorned with a green jewel, which Sorey takes such great care of that he can see his reflection in the polished surface. His jawline is stronger now, stubble across his cheeks, as well as a few inches added to his height. Five whole years have passed after all, since the village became safer and Heldalf stronger, yet also since he lost something he doesn’t even know if he’d had in the first place.

No, he is certain something had been there. Why else would Muse and Michael feel the same? And two years ago, he thought he had come close to the answer, when he learned about curses which take away memories. But he shows none of the usual signs of a curse. Aside from his strange feeling of loss, he’s completely fine. Curses corrupt the mind, seal off senses and emotions. He has not been afflicted with anything of the sort.

Unless there is something different out there, a spell or unusual curse … Perhaps this lead should be something he looks into again. Although he is stumped on why someone would take any memories in the first place.

 

* * *

 

The food his mother cooks is as delicious as always. Living in a village means that all food is grown and is fresh; even money isn’t used here, instead people choosing to exchange goods that they specialise in. It is certainly a peaceful way to live.

Sorey sighs happily after swallowing another mouthful of warm stew. Selene smiles over this gesture.

“Missed my food, didn’t you?” she asks, popping a mouthful of her own into her mouth. Sorey nods enthusiastically.

“I sure did! I’ve eaten well on my travels, but nothing beats a nice home-cooked meal.”

“Nothing ever changes with you. You’re as greedy as ever,” Selene says, causing Sorey to laugh. She leans to one side with her face in the palm of her hand. “So come on, spill the details. What did you get up to _this_ time?”

“I was mostly in the west of Rolance,” Sorey begins. “Lots of normal stuff, like the execution of monsters. Gododdin has been having some trouble with that in particular, and there was a real tough one in Westronbolt Gorge. But Lailah and I took care of that.”

“Mages and warriors have always made the best teams, in my opinion,” says Selene, Sorey nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, it’s really cool! The ones I know specialise in a certain element, too. Fire is Lailah, earth is Edna, wind is Zaveid, Dezel too when he’s not busy with Rose, water is …” Sorey frowns in puzzlement. “Well, I actually don’t have water. Don’t know why I said that one.”

“You could do with that, you know. More of a variety and all that.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sorey answers a little faintly. He certainly feels as though he could have finished that sentence. Still a little confused, he focuses his mind again and smiles. “I didn’t just do errands. I went exploring too.”

Selene grins. “Well of course you did! You might be a successful warrior now, but that’s not going to stop you from getting involved with the hobbies you’ve had for years.”

Sorey shakes his head. For a moment, he reminisces over the places he explored, all of the sights he has seen … It probably causes that typical look of dreaminess in his eyes, for Selene doesn’t interrupt him for a moment. “I’ll have to get you out again too, one of these days. How about that?”

“Sure! As long as you don’t mind helping an old person around.”

With a laugh, Sorey gives her a gentle shove. “Give over, you’re not even fifty yet!”

“God, don’t say that word!” Selene groans, yet she ends up laughing herself. “Really though, I would love to go with you someday. I just don’t have what it takes to be a warrior anymore, and I’d rather not interfere with the errands you get.”

“Then we’ll arrange a trip one of these days, just you and me,” Sorey suggests. Selene smiles, giving him a thumbs up.

“You better keep that promise! Maybe we could take Muse too.”

Sorey nods in agreement. “Yeah, the three of us can go. Michael too if he’s not busy. It’d be fun!”

“For sure! Especially as there’s often a lot on their minds.” Selene pauses, a tongue running over her lips. Sorey already knows what she is about to talk about. Part of him braces himself, yet another is grateful for her to acknowledge it. “You know … I do admire the three of you for continuing your search. I often feel it too, you know. That something isn’t right. But five years isn’t a short amount of time.”

“No, it’s not. I just can’t give up yet.” Sorey peers out of the window, thinking of the circlet in his room. “If there _is_ someone out there I’m forgetting, I can’t leave them alone any longer. Who knows where they might be right now, or if they’re in trouble? I have to find the truth. For myself as well as them, so I stop living like this.”

Selene smiles a little painfully. She begins to clear up the empty plates on the table. “When being realistic, I honestly can’t promise you that you’ll get anywhere. But I’m here for you. I want you to find your answers.”

“Thank you,” Sorey answers, smiling back. “That’s all I can ask for.”

 

* * *

 

Before Sorey travels with his mother, he has other tasks to accomplish first. Some are part of his duties as a protector of the continent. Others are for his own personal means. To accomplish both, he ends up venturing out to seek the assistance of Edna and Eizen, sibling mages who wield the power of earth.

Despite Edna’s petite stature, she is actually a decade older than Sorey, her brother nearing his forties. Yet both keep themselves as young as ever with how much they see the world together. Often times they walk, but they also regularly travel by ship. Sorey reckons that they will still have as youthful souls as ever twenty years from now.

The two live away from most, within a small house situated on the base of Rayfalke Spiritcrest. This is a tall, intimidating mountain, the tallest in all of Glenwood. It is a common place for earth and wind mages alike to gather. A great deal of mana gathers here because of the Earthpulse, and the surrounding nature is suitable for these two elements.

Sorey is soon by the two siblings’ side. They rest themselves on the edge of the cliff-side, staring out at the clouds which swirl around them.

“Curses which take memories?” Eizen questions. “Yeah, they’re not exactly uncommon. And as you’ve probably guessed, they’re mainly used by dark magic users.”

“Someone once tried to use one on Eizen, actually,” says Edna, causing Sorey to look at her with surprise.

“Really? I never knew that,” he says.

“Mages like me can make a fair amount of enemies,” Eizen responds.

“It was fairly weak, so it wasn’t successful,” says Edna. “Curses vary in power like that. When it comes to weaklings, the most they could do would be seal off a part of it temporarily, maybe for like a day or two. The stronger you are, the longer you can make the curse last, and the more specific you can be.”

“Specific?” Sorey questions. He feels his heart skip a little faster.

“Basically focus your curse on a certain part of someone’s memory,” Eizen explains. “The better you are, the more precise you can be. Though Sorey, even though what you’re forgetting seems to be a specific person –”

“– I show no signs of being under a curse,” Sorey finishes for him. “I know. But – well, do you think that if someone was particularly skilled, they could make it so that the person under the curse might not be able to tell at all?”

“Seems tricky, but I wouldn’t say it would be impossible,” Edna says with a shrug.

A flicker of hope, even if only small. Gratitude is heavy in Sorey’s voice as he says, “Thank you, both. Really. I didn’t know much about these curses when I first heard of them two years ago, so I kind of shrugged it off for a while. But I definitely think this could play a part in it.”

“You still don’t have any idea about why your memories would be erased, though?” Eizen asks. Sorey shakes his head.

“Honestly, I have zero leads on that one.”

“You don’t think there’s any chance this person could be dead?” says Edna. “They themselves could have erased your memories of them before they died.”

Eizen glances at her, clearly in agreement of these thoughts yet wondering if they should be voiced aloud. Yet Sorey responds positively.

“Yeah, I’ve considered that a fair few times. But there’s the circlet left behind.” Sorey reaches into his bag, grasping the pouch which contains the precious object. He pulls it out, the sun shining onto the green gem in its centre. “There’s no trace of them away from it. It’s almost like they left it to me so I could find them. Besides … to cast a curse like this, you need a lot of experience, right? And this person … I don’t know. I feel like they might not have been old enough for that.”

“Then your lost person might be alive, then,” says Edna. “Good luck finding them when there’s an entire world to search.”

“I’ll search every inch of that if I have to,” Sorey responds. His voice is so sincere, so serious, that it stuns the two siblings into a silence. That even though he has no memory at all about who this person is, he still has this strong of a resolve to find them. It seems reckless and stupid on one hand. But on the other, it’s truly admirable.

“We’ll do what we can to help you,” says Eizen eventually. “For now, we’ve gotta go sort out that monster in Falkewin Hillside, right?”

Sorey nods. “Yeah. Better focus on that first before anything else.”

The three begin to prepare their supplies and equipment for their fight ahead. Now feeling less lost than he had been before, he is able to focus on the job at hand, knowing that he has some lead to follow when he is done.

 

* * *

 

With a tremendous yell, Sorey brings down a sword against the beast’s back. It’s huge, ten times the size of an ordinary wolf, yet the warrior is not fazed. Lightning spurts from his blade as he brings it down the beast’s flesh. It is much too thick to deal a fatal wound, yet the sword still inflicts a deep gash, causing the beast to howl.

Sorey lands perfectly on his feet. He brings himself back into a defensive stance, focused green eyes not leaving the monster. It turns its head towards Sorey, gleaming red eyes piercing straight through him, yet he doesn’t even flinch.

Not when he has his trusted companions right by his side.

“ _Now!”_ Sorey yells. A blast of wind is send flying towards the monster, rising up from the heat of flames. They combine together into a ferocious hurricane of fire and wind. It envelopes the monster, its screams enough to rattle the onlookers’ bones, yet this doesn’t stop them.

“ _Hell’s Gate!”_ yells a man’s voice, causing blades of wind to slice through the beast. Sorey is the next to run forward, lifting his sword in order for it to be cloaked in a veil of fire.

“Now, Sorey!” a woman now calls, Sorey pushed forward by her words.

“ _Arggghhh!”_

He slices the blade down on the back of the monster’s neck. At last, it is the attack which brings the monster down. Sorey jumps back in time for its huge body to collapse onto the ground, scattering dust and dirt along with it. It remains still and lifeless.

“Yes!” the woman cries, clapping her hands together. “Well done, Sorey!”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Lailah,” he grins at her.

“Hey, what about your old man, Zaveid?” another man whines. Sorey brings his attention to him, still grinning as he bumps fists with the other man.

“That’s another one slain, then,” says Sorey. “We make a good team!”

“We _have_ fought many battles together, after all,” Lailah says with a smile.

“And hopefully there’s many more to come! Well, in a _‘I hope we stay as friends’_ way rather than a _‘I hope monsters continue terrorising Glenwood’_ way.”

“Well, considering monsters are always gonna be there, your wish will be granted,” says Zaveid. He walks over to the monster, crouching down next to it. All monsters are born from essence of dark magic, causing them to evaporate quickly, but hide can remain so long as you remove it in time. This is what Zaveid does right this moment; he digs a knife under the monster’s skin. “You know, after working alone for so long, I can kinda see the appeal of working with a warrior. Mages will always be there to help you guys out!”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t be anywhere without you, honestly,” Sorey says, watching as Zaveid pockets some of the hide. It used to make his stomach churn, although after having to get used to doing this himself, he doesn’t react anymore. Lailah is the one who seems queasy instead.

“Ah, there it goes,” Zaveid says. The dead beast disappears into a cloud of black smoke, leaving no trace of its existence behind. Zaveid heaves himself back up onto his feet, patting dirt off his trousers. “That’s enough for me today! I’m gonna have to stare at Lailah’s _gorgeous_ beauty to get my energy back.”

“Sorey, I also wanted to ask about your search today,” Lailah says, ignoring this statement. “How are you getting on?”

Sorey answers, “Better, I think. I’m pretty sure now that some kind of memory curse or spell was put on me.”

“Seems like a logical answer,” Zaveid says. He slumps down onto a fallen log, stretching out his legs in front of him. “I’ve never heard of a curse which no one can detect, but who knows? Magic is a complicated thing. New stuff is being invented all the time.”

“Besides, curses can become longer should there be some kind of condition,” says Lailah. Sorey blinks at her.

“Condition? What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, you know, a reason to leave the curse in the first place. For example, if the goal had been to separate you both, that puts resolve behind the curse and so makes it stronger. Although that is a little vague, so that would not increase the power behind it so much.”

“I see,” Sorey says thoughtfully. “I didn’t really think about stuff like that, but it makes sense. Though I still don’t know why this curse is here in the first place, this could mean that there definitely _is_ some kind of reason.”

“Maybe they were captured?” Zavied suggests. Sorey hums, resting his head on his hands.

“I’ve thought about that possibility for a while, actually. I mean, why else would they erase my memories, if not to take someone from me? Maybe erasing my memories was a way to stop me from finding them …”

“So you’re another step closer,” says Lailah with a smile. However, Sorey seems uncertain.

“I don’t know. I’ve already thought that this person being captured is the only explanation for someone else erasing my memories. I guess now it’s just less of an assumption.”

“Although if you are more sure that they have been kidnapped, then you can _also_ likely bet that they are still in Glenwood.” Sorey sits up straighter from Lailah’s words. “I simply cannot see why someone would go through all this trouble of making a curse, only to take this person to the other side of the world if you don’t know who they are anyway. I feel as though they might still be on the continent.”

“Lots of ‘mights’ here,” Zaveid frowns. “Got anything solid at all?”

Sorey shakes his head. “Even me knowing someone is missing from my life isn’t ‘solid’. I’m just going off a gut feeling.”

“But those feelings haven’t let you down so far,” says Lailah.

“Exactly. I’ve just … I’ve searched the whole of Glenwood already. Where could they be? Who is it that I’m even looking for?” Sorey glances up at the sky, wondering if this person is looking at the same sky, or if they are in a place where such a thing is impossible. “It’s already nearing another half year. I’ve got to find them soon. Who knows what could be happening?”

“Don’t get too in over your head though, all right?” Zaveid says warningly. “Don’t want to end up losing yourself on the way.”

“I won’t,” says Sorey firmly. He doesn’t say anything more, yet his tone alone says enough. Zaveid closes his eyes, smiling for a moment before he gets up onto his feet.

“How about we go head for Lastonbell for a bite to eat?” he suggests, knowing that his friend needs a break. Lailah smiles and nods.

“Yes, we could do with a break! Sorey, would you like to as well?”

“Of course! All that fighting has worked up an appetite, I’m _starving.”_

Zaveid and Lailah exchange a glance, smiling at each other. Despite their worries about the warrior pushing himself too hard, it seems as though there may be nothing to worry about at all, at least with him. He might be determined, chasing after instincts which may lead to nothing in the end, yet his personality never wavers.

Always staying true to what he believes in. Some things never change.

 

* * *

 

Even if Sorey’s determination and resolve have not weakened, even if he has promised himself that he will not give up, he cannot help but have his hope waver.

It has now been five and a half years. When thinking of life on a larger scale, this period of time doesn’t seem that long. But when Sorey thinks about the likely possibility that if this person exists, they could be imprisoned … How much could have happened in that time? Could they have already died by now?

He has searched _everywhere._ Perhaps not every literal inch, but anywhere that seems like a logical place to search. Forests, marshes, rocky landscapes and meadows which stretch for miles – alongside towns and ruins, all of this has been searched. Yet still, nothing.

Lailah says that Glenwood is the most likely place for the person to be in. But if this is the case, why has Sorey not been able to find them yet? If he has searched all over, fighting monsters and saving civilians along the way, why has he not come up with anything?

He isn’t the only one. Michael’s own travels have also come up empty. Tonight, they sit on the cliff-side of Elysia, a beautiful small village situated near their own.

“Sorey, I have to be honest with you,” says Michael as he stares out at the landscape before him. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

“I thought you’d say this one day,” Sorey responds, his heart aching despite how he understands.

Michael’s heart must also ache, if it is in relation to his expression, showing deep disappointment in himself. “I’m trying, I really am. But with such little to go on, with nothing concrete showing up in five and a half years –”

“I know,” says Sorey quietly. “It’s hard to keep up faith after that amount of time.”

“I admire you for being able to do that. I just … I’m not getting any younger, Sorey. I feel as though all this stress, travelling only to find nothing, will do nothing good for my health.”

“I’ll continue in your steed.”

Michael glances at Sorey, seeming both unsure yet also as though he’s admiring Sorey all at once. “Are you sure you are fine to carry on? Is it not wasting your first years as an adult, to do all of this?”

Sorey shakes his head. “It’s not as though this is _all_ I’ve been doing,” Sorey says, glancing out at the vast scenery before them. A gorgeous night sky stretching far as the eye can see, the dark shadow of Rayfalke in the distance. A world full of incredible wonders and mystery. “I’ve been able to travel the world too, help people, make amazing friends … Sure, I’ve been wanting to find that person too, but it’s not like that’s all I’ve been doing. I have my own life to lead.”

A smile breaks out on Michael’s face. “You are an admirable person, Sorey. I’d like to thank you for everything you do.”

“Awh, it’s nothing,” Sorey grins, scratching the back of his head. “But thank you.”

Michael’s smile grows. It’s not all that often you see such a genuine smile from him. But when it does appear, it lights up his whole face, illuminating its beautiful features. His eyes smile along with his lips.

Gentle, yet also piercing, violet eyes …

“Have I ever told you about how familiar your eyes seem to me?” Sorey questions slowly.

“I don’t think so. I mean, Muse and I share the same eyes. Perhaps that’s why.”

“Maybe,” Sorey says, not believing this at all. The same eyes, shared by brother and sister. A family trait. Sorey wonders if either had a child, they would have the same eyes.

That’s when everything seems to make sense. Why everyone in the village seems to have lost someone, yet most forgot about it before long. But these two people alongside Sorey have not been able to forget, have never been able to move on, because doing so would mean they would lose something important …

“Sorey?” Michael questions as the man gets to his feet. Sorey smiles down at him reassuringly.

“I promise I’ll succeed. I’ll bring home the person you have lost as well.”

Michael blinks, forever surprised by the other’s kind, strong heart. Then his eyes bear gratitude. “Thank you, Sorey.”

The two stand together, watching as an owl swoops by through the air. A serene, gorgeous night, so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

He hopes that they, the person who he is searching for, will one day have a chance to see the same night with him.

 

* * *

 

Further months past. Sorey can feel desperation begin to rise. He has even considered asking Heldalf, a sorcerer who regularly visits the village with his assistant, for guidance. But he knows that many don’t understand why Sorey is still trying. Though Heldalf seems a polite individual to the villagers, he is also not afraid to be blunt, and Sorey feels as though the man may tell Sorey to stop searching.

He is not sure why, but the thought of speaking to that man also brings a horrid chill to Sorey’s spine. Perhaps it is intimidation.

Regardless of the reason, Sorey cannot help but watch time pass him by. He only has a few answers; they wore this circlet, a memory curse has been placed on Sorey and perhaps many others, the person had been kidnapped and may still be in Glenwood, they are related to Michael and Muse somehow … But even these aren’t clear. _Nothing_ is. It makes Sorey feel frustrated and useless to know he is so in the dark.

That’s why he has decided that if the six year mark arrives and Sorey has still not found them, he will leave the continent and search elsewhere. There seems to be little option left.

For now, he has been asked by Rose, a good friend of his who happens to be an assassin, to embark on a mission with her guild. They are to rescue a mage and to assassinate those who captured her. Sorey, as someone who has never killed anyone but monsters, will be doing this saving.

When Sorey arrives at the place where he decided to meet them, he finds that Dezel, a wind mage, is also there. He’s hardly surprised; Dezel is a good friend of Rose as well.

“She is supposed to be kept in the Weylish Ruins, which are just round the corner from here,” Rose says to the group which surrounds her, placing the tip of her finger on a map sprawled across the ground. “We likely outnumber them; seems like these guys might be full of brawn, yet little brains. Talfryn, Felice and Rosh will go in first to take out the guards. Dezel, Eguille and I will head in after that to locate the members. Sorey, you’ll be close behind and ready to get hold of the hostage when you can. The rest will be back-ups. Sound all right to everyone?”

Sorey nods, the others doing the same. “Let’s do this.”

On Rose’s signal, the Scattered Bones proceed forward swiftly yet silently, Sorey close behind. He feels somewhat self-conscious around these people; though he doesn’t doubt his skills, he also knows he has no chance of acting as quietly as trained assassins either. However, he _has_ practised stealth due to hunting monsters and animals to eat, so manages well enough.

He crouches behind a rock, watching as Rose stands with her back against her wall. She gestures for Talfryn, Felice and Rosh to go inside. They do so immediately. Silence follows. Except, that is, for the quiet, distant sound of bodies slumping to the ground.

“Amazing,” Sorey says under his breath. He’s not sure if those in front hear him, yet he swears he sees Rose smirk a little. She, Dezel and Eguille are the next trio to head in. This means that Sorey is now proceeding himself.

He barely has time to see what the assassins are doing; by now, the captors inside are aware of the Scattered Bones’ presence, yet Rose appears to have been right about them having more brawn over brains. They can barely keep up with their movements.

“The hostage is over there, Sorey,” says the voice of Rosh behind him, gesturing to a broken down wall before he proceeds to land a swift kick on one of the captors nearby. Sorey races over to where the man had pointed, finding the girl sat upright with her hands behind her back, long white hair falling over her shoulders. She seems petrified.

“Don’t worry, I’m here to help,” says Sorey, thankful his voice sounds so calm. His ears pick up a sound behind him, causing him to turn quickly on his heel; someone swings a sword in his direction, Sorey blocking it with his own. He acts quicker than the other, landing a kick on the back of their legs.

“Come ‘ere!” another man yells. Sorey doesn’t have enough time to block a punch which lands on the side of his head. He stumbles, the girl letting out a cry when Sorey spits blood out of his mouth. Yet he soon swivels around, eyes shining as he brings a hand in front of him and shouts:

“ _Lion’s Howl!”_

The arte blasts the man back into a wall. The impact against the back of his head causes him to fall to the ground, unconscious. Meanwhile, Sorey blocks an attack from the tripped man one last time, before sending a flash of lightning to his chest. The man yells, his body paralysed from the shock.

“That’ll do, he won’t be able to move for a while,” Sorey says. He gently shifts the girl’s body around, using a knife from his belt to start cutting into the ropes binding her wrists. He notices that her hair, rather than being pure white, has a calming blue tone to the ends. “There. Come on, let’s get you out of here. Can you stand?”

The mage nods, but as she gets to her feet, she stumbles, Sorey barely given the chance to catch her. “I’m sorry,” she says, seeming ashamed. “I think I injured my ankle when I was running from them.”

“Don’t worry about it, here …”

Moments later, he is carrying the girl on his back. He knows that it’s probably not a good idea to carry her with no hands free and that doing so with one arm would have been better, but this is far more comfortable for her. Besides, the Scattered Bones are far more skilled than the captors, so there should not be any trouble getting the girl outside.

This speculation turns out to be correct. He manages to carry the girl to the landscape outside the ruin, carefully placing her down against a rock.

“Thank you for helping me,” she says with a smile.

“Ah, no worries! I wouldn’t have been able to do it without those guys anyway. So which ankle was it that you hurt?”

“My left.”

Sorey nods. After receiving her permission, he removes her sandal in order to begin wrapping bandages around her ankle carefully. Due to his focus, he cannot let his mind wander too much, although he also can’t completely stop it from doing so. His eyes glance at her hair. The combination of silvery white and aqua blue … Although he has seen this combination a few times during his travels, this is his first time seeing it up close for a time he cannot tell. It feels familiar somehow.

“Do you like my hair?” the girl ends up questioning. Luckily, her voice isn’t flirtatious; she simply seems amused. “A few select mages have white hair. Then when we specialise in a certain element, it often shows on the ends.”

“I see,” Sorey says thoughtfully. He had thought as much from his friends’ hair, yet has never given it much thought. “So you specialise in water?”

“Yes, that’s right. I started developing the blue ends when I was around seventeen.”

“That’s pretty interesting,” he answers, trying to keep his tone enthusiastic despite how much his mind keeps trying to wander. It doesn’t get much chance to continue this before the Scattered Bones are soon all heading out of the ruins.

“We got them all,” Rose says, brushing dirt off her thighs. “A few are going to bury the bodies now. Alice, is it all right if we bring you to our carriage? One of our mages is going to make sure there hasn’t been curses placed on you or anything. It’s not likely, but just in case.”

The white-haired mage nods. “The warrior here bandaged my ankle, so I should be fine to walk now.” She glances at Sorey. “I never did catch your name, I apologise.”

“Oh, I’m Sorey,” he says. She smiles from this.

“A pleasure then, Sorey. Thank you again.”

Alice is escorted to a carriage nearby. Rose is looking down at Sorey curiously, before choosing to slump down next to him. Dezel is soon to join them.

“What’s gotten you looking all thoughtful?” Rose questions in amusement.

“I recognise her appearance, somehow,” Sorey answers. His tone is serious enough to push aside Rose’s entertained smile.

“What about it?”

“Her hair. I’ve seen that before.”

“You think it could be from the person you knew?” Dezel asks. “That would mean they’re a mage.”

Sorey nods his head. “Why _was_ she captured?”

Dezel says, “White-haired mages, aside from some exceptions, are more powerful, and most can reach greater heights than regular mages. But we still can’t access all of our magic.”

“Why is that?”

“You know that urban legend, about a mother lifting a carriage to save her child, things like that?” Rose questions, clearing having spoken to Dezel about this already. “It’s called the hysterical effect. It’s where a person supposedly taps into super-human strength. Warriors get closer to that than anyone on a regular basis. Mages have something similar.”

“Everyone has a limit,” Dezel continues. “White-haired mages in particular have too much magic to wield. A lot is put to waste. But like with the hysterical effect, the true limit of that magic can be used.”

“What does that have to do with Alice?” Sorey asks.

Rose says, “Others can tap into that magic, be it by consent or force. The former is how warriors use their mage’s power, but this is _always_ done properly, without exceeding the mage’s limits too much. The latter is when the mage’s life is put at risk. You see, we all have a limit on our strength to protect ourselves. But an outside person can tamper with that limit and put the mage’s body under incredible turmoil.”

“And there are some who would capture a mage in order to use that?” Sorey says quietly. Rose nods.

“It’s awful, I know, but some people … Hold on, Sorey, you don’t think _that’s_ why your person was captured?”

Sorey nods. “It would explain why our memories of them were wiped, so we can’t stop their power from being used.” His jaw clenches, finding rage build despite how he has no idea what this person is, not even their name. “It’s sick. I can’t understand why someone would do something so cruel.”

“That’s just the way it is sometimes,” says Dezel, eyebrows underneath his overgrown fringe furrowing. “Sorey. If the person has been held hostage for almost six years for this reason, then I doubt they’re still alive.”

Sorey bites his lip. Of course he knows that. But there’s no way that he can accept it.

“I know, Sorey,” says Rose, making him realise he spoke aloud. “We just … We need to be a bit realistic about it. That’s a long time for someone to endure that. It’d take a lot of strength to get through.”

“Unless your memories were used as a source of power on its own,” says Dezel thoughtfully.

Sorey holds his head in his hands, trying to think. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s true. I don’t know. I don’t even know who would have …”

Silence falls. Sorey frowns, trying to follow where his mind is trying to lead him down an unknown path. As though there is something he’s missed, something so obviously connected, yet he spared no thought … There has to be something, _any_ clue as to who might have done this, who wanted more power …

Almost six years ago … Sorey’s heart stops. There _had_ been someone who developed power from seemingly nowhere in that time. Sorey had never questioned it, for it seemed to have been for the good of the people. But if, _if_ the person Sorey has lost truly had been kidnapped for their power, if they really did have the limits of their magic used against them …

“Sorey?” Rose says in surprise as the other warrior suddenly gets to his feet. His expression is unreadable, all but for the mixture of determination and horror in his eyes.

“I think … I think I know. But there’s one thing I have to make sure of first.”

“What? Slow down for a sec and … Never mind.”

For Sorey has already sprinted off, despite how his destination is days away. Suddenly, regardless of how long it has taken him to reach any answers, days seem like a great deal of time. Far, far too much time to be wasted, for that person could truly already be dead by now.

But no … The suspected culprit is still as powerful as ever. Hope flickers in Sorey’s chest.

There’s still chance. As long as he is quick enough, he can make it. He has to.


	2. The End of His Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After stringing together the advice and information he has been given by his friends, Sorey has come to what he believes is the truth. Although without his memories, all he can guess is what has happened to whoever he has lost, rather than who it is.
> 
> He continues to rely on his instincts to guide him. One glance at the map of Glenwood is all it takes for him to search one last place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your kind words on the first part! I truly have put a fair bit of thought into this story and I'm glad it paid off. I'm also glad that expanding this was worth it; at first, I had only expected it to be around a 10,000 word oneshot.
> 
> So here it is, part two. I hope you enjoy it!

The days it takes to return to Camlann are far, far too long. Eventually, however, Sorey finally makes it home. He manages to plaster a smile on his face to those who greet him. Yet further ahead, he can see the tall figure speaking to the villagers, as they so commonly do … Sorey knows that if he is right, Heldalf will know simply by looking at Sorey. He has to get home without speaking to him.

“Sorey,” his mother says as her son enters the house. She can tell immediately that something is wrong. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” he says simply. Selene doesn’t argue, perhaps even able to speculate what is happening, as Sorey rushes over to his room. It’s only something simple he needs to see to confirm his theory.

His eyes land on the map which is stuck to the wall. They drift to Camlann. His heart stops, his theories almost completely certified from this alone.

He has been everywhere in Glenwood. He has scrutinised every single part of every city, ransacked ruins, investigated landscapes as far as the eye can see … He has searched everywhere.

Or at least, almost everywhere.

Artorius’ Throne is the one place he has never bothered to look.

Of course he hasn’t. That location is much too close, and not only that, but it is the home of Heldalf and his assistant. It has never crossed Sorey’s mind for even a second to look there. Of course the person he is looking for won’t be there. Of course it would be a waste of time and an insult to Camlann’s protector.

Or at least, it would have been, had Heldalf not been the one to take that mage in the first place.

Sorey cannot know for sure. He can’t be certain of anything. But this is the closest lead he has ever had, tying in all the hints and clues he has managed to gather over the years. He has to follow it and he has to do so now, whilst Heldalf is in the village, sickeningly adored by its people.

“Sorey, tell me what’s going on,” Selene says desperately as Sorey heads to the front door. He breathes out. Time is of the essence, yet he must at least take a moment to explain himself.

“I might know where they are,” he answers, knowing this is enough. His mother’s green eyes widen at this.

“Are you sure?”

Sorey nods. “As sure as I can be, anyway.”

“Won’t you take someone with you, just in case it’s dangerous?”

This time, he shakes his head. “There’s no time to gather anyone. Besides, I feel like it’s my duty. I have to see it through.”

Selene inspects her son’s eyes. She has never seen such intense resolve exist in them. It causes her to nod, taking a step back. “Then go save them.”

Sorey’s lips grow into a smile. He plants a kiss on top of her head, just in case everything goes wrong. Then he exits the home and shuts the door after him.

Hood thrown over his head, he keeps to the outskirts of the town as he heads to Artorius’ Throne. Looking back, he has certainly felt something there … He has only ever been by the entrance, but even there, he felt some kind of power. Back then, he had never questioned it, thinking that it is simply the essence of magic coming from Heldalf and Symonne’s training and enchantments.

Now he berates himself a fool for never questioning this further.

Luck is on his side when he reaches there with no trouble. The guards bear no issue, either. Taken over by his anger and blessed with incredible fortitude, Sorey takes them out no problem. Perhaps it is because he has grown in power. Perhaps Heldalf and Symonne think they are strong enough on their own. Either way, with only minor injuries he doesn’t even notice, Sorey makes it through.

“There,” he says quietly to himself as he stares up at a flight of stairs. He can feel it now, the energy dispersed from the room above. Although it is fainter than he imagined. Almost worryingly so.

“You will not proceed any further!” a guard yells, running down the stairs.

“ _MOVE_ _IT!”_ Sorey bellows, too desperate to pay them any mind. He swings his sword around him, striking multiple guards with lightning. Before attacking, he knew that these guards in particular would be too strong to be stopped with one hit, but that doesn’t matter; the furious swings of Sorey’s sword are enough to finish the job.

Panting, he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s too easy. Symonne should be here. But he’ll cross that potential bridge when he gets to it. For now, he has to climb this set of stairs. He needs to reach them.

“I’m coming,” he says, allowing himself to run again when his breath has returned. “I promise.”

A golden light bathes the landing above the stairs. Sorey follows it into a vast room in front of him. At first, this light is too bright to see anything inside properly. But once he ventures further inside, the light dims. And the sight in there chills Sorey down to the bone.

A figure is suspended in the middle. Golden cuffs are attached to thin wrists, vast chains reaching to the ceiling in order to restrain them. Slender arms – perhaps too much so, as though the person is malnourished – continue on from these wrists. They are bare, as is the person’s torso, although they wear trousers with fraying ends.

Their head hangs. From it, a silvery curtain of hair falls down in curls, the ends tinted with aquamarine, almost all the way down to bony hips.

They don’t seem to be moving.

“Hey,” Sorey says quietly to begin with, a shake in his voice. He swallows, forcing himself to call. “Are … Are you still alive? Are –”

He stops when the fingers of the hands caught in the cuffs twitch. Relief washes over him, if only small. Though the head still doesn’t rise properly; it only does slightly, as though they are trying to listen out for Sorey’s voice properly.

“Who … who are you?”

It’s a male voice. Weak and frail, almost as though it takes every ounce of remaining strength in him to say anything. Although somewhere in that pained voice is a sense of familiarity.

“I’m a villager from Camlann,” Sorey says, unable to explain himself properly in this moment. “I’m Sorey.”

“Sorey?”

A smile, despite everything, manages to find Sorey’s voice. This man knows that name, even if Sorey isn’t sure what else he knows.

“That’s right, what –”

“Don’t!” the mage suddenly calls out in a hoarse shout. Sorey freezes, realising he had been stepping closer to the prisoner. “The magic in these chains, they’re … they’re too powerful. You’ll die if you get too close.”

“Oh,” Sorey says simply. Those aren’t exactly the words he wanted to hear. How is he supposed to release the other if he can’t actually get close enough to undo the chains? For now, he needs to know. He needs to know who he is. “What’s your name? Do you know it?”

“It’s Mikleo. And your name – Sorey – I’ve heard it before, but I don’t …”

Mikleo’s words drift off hopelessly. Yet Sorey’s eyes are widening. He knows Mikleo’s name too. He also knows those eyes, the ones which look at him right now – at this distance, it is hard to see them, but the light from the chains binding Mikleo illuminate them brightly. They’re beautiful, the colour of amethysts. The exact same colour as Muse and Michael’s eyes.

“You’re the first person to come here, aside from Heldalf and Symonne,” Mikleo proceeds to say, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t even know you. I don’t … I don’t know anyone, so I never thought that anyone would actually …”

“Come here for you,” Sorey says quietly. His heart aches with sympathy, burns with hatred for Heldalf – those on Sorey’s side are not the only ones to have their memories wiped. Mikleo had been the same. To be chained here all this time, with such overwhelming loneliness and hopelessness …

“They’ve been using my magic,” Mikleo explains. “Absorbing it from me. I tried to use it myself to escape. But there’s no breaking the chains no matter what I do. And … and I’m too weak to do anything now.”

Mikleo’s voice cracks, as though threatening a sob. It is a knife which stabs Sorey’s heart. He swallows, unsure of what to do, what to say, when he cannot even get close, to fulfil the strange urge of not only saving them, but holding them close also. As though it’s natural for him to do this.

But he feels as though he has to keep talking. And considering his instincts are what lead him here, he is not going to stop trusting them now.

“I’m sorry,” Sorey says quietly. There is a lump in his throat, as though he too could cry, although he forces these tears back. “I’ve searched all over Glenwood for almost six years trying to find you. Yet you’ve been here all this time. Right in front of me, only an hour away. I truly am sorry.”

“You searched the whole continent?” Mikleo questions uncertainly, like no one would ever actually do this for him. Sorey nods.

“Ever since you were imprisoned here, I just knew something was wrong, that something was missing. Eventually, I realised that it wasn’t a thing I was missing. It was a person, and they left me this.”

Sorey reaches into his pocket, pulling out the pouch. Mikleo watches closely as Sorey pulls out the golden circlet, his eyes widening as it catches light.

“That’s mine,” he says, Sorey’s heart skipping a beat from these words. “I used to wear it all the time. I think … I think it once belonged to my mother.”

“She recognised it too, though she couldn’t remember,” says Sorey, looking down at the circlet. “I suppose it’s because it was part of you, so she couldn’t remember it anymore.”

“And that’s all you had of me?”

Sorey nods. He feels guilty over this, even if it’s hardly his fault that this is the case. Simply the thought that Mikleo has been contained here all this time, waiting and waiting with no hope in sight, yet all Sorey has been able to recall isn’t a memory at all. All he has had is an object and his instincts.

“I’m sorry,” Sorey ends up saying, feeling tears well in his eyes. “I searched for all those years, wherever I could, trying to find an answer, even just a small clue. But I wasted so much time. You were right here, in Artorius’ Throne. I searched for so long, all that time, when you were …”

He swallows, still stopping his tears. He looks up at Mikleo, who still seems shocked. Sorey can also read more than this emotion. Mikleo seems to have more life, more hope, since being told this.

And Sorey questions silently how this is. How can Mikleo feel hopeful, when he has learned how much time Sorey wasted to search Glenwood? How can anyone feel love, feel gratitude, over something like this?

Then the captured mage speaks, giving Sorey this answer.

“I don’t know why you’re saying sorry,” he says quietly. “You didn’t have anything to go by at all. Yet you went out searching for that long, never giving up, and was eventually lead here. It’s more than I could have dreamed of.”

Sorey blinks over this answer. The sincerity of that voice, he’s heard it so many times before. The two of them have spoken in these tones, with this seriousness, a number of times in the past.

“What lead you to search for me?” Mikleo proceeds to question. Sorey is a little taken aback by it. There’s not really a solid answer, he just knew something was gone … But then again, perhaps there is meaning behind his actions. That even when knowing nothing, even with the stars turning their back on him and refusing to guide him, he still tried before any of his hunches came into play.

Because somewhere, deep down, he must have known that Mikleo meant the world to him.

“We were close,” says Sorey eventually. He looks at Mikleo’s face, finding his heart is filled with warmth. “No, more than that. I think we loved each other.”

Mikleo is silent for a moment, until he responds in a whisper. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“That’s why you left me that circlet. So I could find you again. You must have always believed in me, to believe that I could succeed.”

“I had faith in you,” says Mikleo. Such simple words cause Sorey’s heart to leap, his mind trying to take him back, back to a time he cannot say, yet knows must have existed.

“ _I have faith in you,”_ says a voice, _Mikleo’s_ voice, distantly in his mind. _“And I trust you. That’s why I want to let you use my power, because I know you’d never abuse it.”_

Sorey can feel it. The warmth of Mikleo’s hand as Sorey takes it into his own, the vibration of his own voice in his ears, replying with how Sorey would never dare do such a thing. That Mikleo’s power, his loyalty, will always be safe in his hands. Sorey would allow himself to fall before betraying that trust.

“You trusted me like no one else,” Sorey continues, unsure if his words are coming from actual truth, or if his heart is guiding him to speak. Perhaps it’s both. “And … and you were a little embarrassed to admit that, I think. I always found it cute, and I’d tease you about it, yet it touched me all the same.”

“You had to say that, didn’t you?” Mikleo says. His voice is a little fainter now, panic surging through Sorey; Mikleo is slipping, from consciousness or life itself, Sorey doesn’t even know. He cannot say how damaged Mikleo is from all these years of his power being taken from him.

All he can do is keep speaking, keep on digging into his heart, accepting the answers which come to him naturally.

“Of course I did,” says Sorey. “Because it’s all you. Getting embarrassed over admitting things, yet remaining as loyal as you can be all the same. I think you were hard-working, too. Maybe you were like me, a complete nerd and obsessed with ruins and history.”

“For sure,” says Mikleo. “And … we must have read together, right? Studied it all?”

“Exactly. That wasn’t all you were learning, too. You did so much for your magic, learning how to harness it. You never stopped challenging yourself.”

When Sorey closes his eyes, he can see exactly that. Mikleo’s form slumped over on his desk, glasses skewed on his face. _“Fallen asleep again?”_ Sorey would say, leaning down. A smile of amusement, his hands reaching to remove those glasses and place them to one side. Blue shirt drawn over Mikleo’s shoulders to fight the cold – his skin would often be cool to touch at this time – before lifting him to take him to bed. Sometimes he would stir, sometimes he wouldn’t. Either way, he would rest against Sorey.

Arms held Mikleo close once they laid in bed with one another, Sorey picturing a life where this would happen every night.

A life where this _would_ be happening, rather than where Mikleo is caught in these chains.

“I’m sorry, Sorey,” Mikleo says, bringing Sorey out of these thoughts. A single tear has trickled down his face, a shake to his voice. His eyes bear the surrender of one who has reached for hope for far too long. “I’m too weak. I can’t remember anything.”

Sorey shakes his head. “You can, though. You’re agreeing and you feel _something,_ right? Like I do?”

Mikleo nods. “I felt it as soon as you spoke. I don’t remember anything, yet I … I definitely know that I love you.”

“ _I love you.”_ Three words on a silent night, as the two rest on a stretch of grass, a book discarded to one side. Sorey turns to him, eyes wide with surprise, yet his face breaks out into a smile.

“ _That’s the first time you’ve said it before I did.”_

And Mikleo has said it again before Sorey, triggering something in his mind, setting off a chain reaction. Small, tiny things which might mean nothing to anyone else. The way Mikleo holds the back of his hand over his mouth sometimes when he doesn’t want Sorey to see his smile. The way his eyes close when he laughs particularly loudly – often times, this would be when Sorey tickles him. And Sorey usually wins those fights, because Mikleo’s strength seems to sap completely when he’s giggling.

Mikleo likes to make witty remarks too, often times to cover up true emotion he’s shy to express. He’s stubborn, much like Sorey. And when a hot summer’s day rolls around, he makes the best soft serve Sorey has ever tasted. He is Mikleo. That’s all there is to it.

Small, tiny things which might not mean much at all to anyone else. But they have always meant the world – no, the entire _universe –_ to Sorey, and now, they keep on connecting, keep on spreading, until Sorey can say, his mind no longer unclear:

“I remember you.”

But the chains do not break over these words. They grow fainter, so much so that if Mikleo had more strength remaining, he’d likely be able to find a way to break free. The light which surrounds him has also become faint. But Mikleo is growing weaker. It seems as though it is taking every last bit of life he has left to even stay awake.

He doesn’t remember Sorey in return. Sorey’s memory alone is not enough.

And Mikleo has not been able to utter another word, his head hanging and his breaths weak.

“It’s not enough for only you to remember. The curse can only be broken if you both remember each other.”

Hatred fills Sorey’s heart over the voice which speaks. A voice which for years, made him feel no emotion like this. But now he has learned the truth, now his head aches with the return of countless memories, he despises that voice with all he has.

His head turns, finding the small figure of Symonne, who enters the room. She is calm and collected.

“Well done for fighting through that,” she says, her lips pulled into a smirk. “But unfortunately, it means nothing if your mage cannot remember you in return. And judging by how weak he’s become … _Can_ he find it in himself to remember you, I wonder?”

Sorey’s voice is firm as he responds. “He will. He’s too stubborn to let some curse stop him. Isn’t that right, Mikleo?”

Mikleo’s head rises again, his eyes finding Sorey’s. Guilt and shame pierce his chest. “I-I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t …”

“You can do it. You’ve already remembered me a bit, right? You’ve just got to think a little more.”

“But I didn’t remember anything. I just … had a feeling.”

“And it’s a ‘feeling’ which lead me to you. Don’t discredit that.”

“Oh yes, because some nice little _feelings_ are going to help a useless mage,” Symonne says, letting out a wicked laugh. “Poor little Mikleo has had us drain his mana for far too long. Now, he’s becoming an empty shell. No mind, no emotion, barely a beating heart … Merely a puppet to generate more power for us!”

“He’s not a tool for you to use.” Sorey reaches for the sword resting against his back, holding it out in front of him with a face full of rage. “And I refuse to turn away from here without him.”

“You will. We’ll take away your memories as long as we have to!”

Symonne holds out a small staff. Sorey lets out a gasp; a line of clones appears in front of Symonne, all identical to her. Illusions have always been the sorceress’ speciality. But they were never this strong, never felt so _real._ It’s clear that Mikleo’s absorbed magic is what has caused it.

But Symonne isn’t the only one who has spent these years getting stronger.

With a yell, Sorey swings his sword and forces the illusions back as they come nearer. A couple fall to the floor, the others evading successfully; Symonne merely lets out a laugh as she stands to the side. Toying with him. It only increases his anger.

“ _They’re not real,”_ Sorey thinks, gripping onto his sword tighter. _“It doesn’t matter if I kill them. They’re not real people.”_

He dodges out of the way of a flash of darkness, plunging his sword into one of the clones’ chest. Her scream rattles Sorey’s bones. Yet she doesn’t fall to the floor, like a real person would; she disappears in a cloud of smoke.

“That’s it, waste all of your energy! Fight, even though it’s futile!”

The clones laugh with the original. This only angers him further. She is trying to provoke him, make him lose control, but he will never do such a thing. He can’t. Not when Mikleo is slipping away, not when Sorey is about to lose the person he has only just remembered.

“ _Raging Winds!”_ Sorey yells, the arte knocking clones off their feet. He continues the attack with slashes of his sword, with fire that burns brightly; in his mind, he knows he has to watch his strength, yet somehow, he feels stronger and more capable than ever.

He knows he cannot waste too much mana on these clones, however. The death of the first has helped relieve his concerns. He doesn’t hesitate to plunge his sword though them, watching as they disappear, a sign that they were never real to begin with.

“Use so many artes without a mage, and it’s bound to backfire eventually,” Symonne says, letting out a cruel laugh. Yet she is silenced as Sorey brings down another clone effortlessly, another fury of wind pushing back several others. His furious green eyes land on the original, and before she can even take a step back, he is racing towards her.

But her reflexes don’t fail her. Sorey’s movements freeze as her body changes almost instantly. Red eyes no longer stare back at him, but rather a gentle violet. The face of Mikleo smiles at him, and for the first time, Sorey cannot say or do a single thing.

“I’ve already suffered for so long, Sorey,” says Mikleo, pain heavy in his voice. “And you’re about to hurt me now?”

Sorey shakes his head. Even though the rational side of him knows this is fake, that she is toying with him, he cannot help but fall victim to her tricks. “N-No, I’d never –”

“That’s not me, Sorey.”

Both Sorey and Symonne turn their heads to the true Mikleo, still imprisoned by faint chains. Neither had been sure if the mage is still been awake.

“Don’t let her fool you,” he says, his voice louder yet more strained than before, as though he is forcing any tiny scraps of strength he has left into speaking clearly for Sorey. “Her illusions might seem strong, but they’re no more than that in the end.”

“Stay out of this!” Symonne, still taking the form of Mikleo, yells. Sorey turns back to her, no longer feeling any hesitation. That face contorted with an ugly rage, the snarl, the angered voice – none of that is like Mikleo at all. Nor is the furious cry she releases as Sorey swings his sword at her, barely able to be dodged.

“Change into whatever you want, I don’t care,” says Sorey. “Like some kind of picture show is going to bring me down.”

Symonne cries out in anger, her staff bathing itself in a dark light as she swings it at Sorey. Having not expected a physical attack, he only manages to block it with his arm as opposed to dodging; he hisses in pain, realising she must have centred her mana within it.

“I can’t gather any more,” she says, now back to her normal self as she turns to Mikleo. “He’s not had enough time to generate it!”

The words turn Sorey’s body cold. “You take Mikleo from me, fight me to keep him here, only to then try and use his power against me?” he questions, his voice a quiet rage. It then escalates as he shouts, “Is there no end to what you will do?!”

“The world isn’t fair to everyone. Some are made to be used.” Her words are serious, not even used to provoke him, which only adds fuel to the fire.

“You know what Mikleo was to me?” Sorey asks, his hands trembling from anger. “He was everything. We grew up together. I realised I saw him more as a friend and confessed when we were studying one day. We trained, spent everyday together. I loved him more than anything. And I know that he remembers that.”

Mikleo’s head raises a little. That does seem right … This person here, Mikleo feels like there had never been a time he wasn’t there. It is as though they have been together from the beginning.

“It’s not something you can understand, is it?” Sorey continues. “You don’t know what true love is. You fawn over Heldalf, sure, but you don’t truly love him. If you did, you’d understand how wrong it is to do something like this. You would never find it in your heart to tear us apart like you have.”

‘ _That’s how he’s always been,’_ Mikleo thinks to himself. _‘That’s how it feels, at least. Sorey is a kind, good person. Yet he’s also honest and headstrong. He’ll always say how he feels. That must be how we ended up together.’_

“I adore Heldalf with everything I have,” retorts Symonne.

“Adoration is one thing. Obsession is another. And you’re so blinded that you’d go this far to serve him. He doesn’t care about you or anyone else. He only wants power.”

“ _Shut_ _up_ _!”_ Symonne screams. She casts another arte, launching it to Sorey, but he dodges it easily. She seems to be losing her resolve.

“It’s not for the good of the people, or anyone else. It’s all for himself. And maybe it’s helped Camlann, I won’t deny it. But I’m stubborn too. And I’m not willing to give up the person I love for that.” Sorey averts his gaze to Mikleo, smiling. “You know that, right? You know how much I love you?”

“ _Of course I do,”_ Mikleo had said, a morning six years ago. _“You don’t have to remind me of that at all.”_

And even now, Mikleo still doesn’t have to be reminded. Not of their love, at least. He can still feel it as strongly as he has ever done. He knows that Sorey has his heart. How could Mikleo forget something like that? How could he forget all that Sorey means to him, all that they have done?

And then, as though a light has finally pushed away never-ending darkness, it is like he had never forgotten anything in the first place.

“ _NO!”_ Symonne screams as the chains and surrounding light disappear entirely from Mikleo. Her scream turns out to be used against her. For the way it echoes completely brings Sorey to his senses, sharpens his reflexes; he sprints over, keeping his eyes planted on Mikleo as he falls. Then he leaps forward, catching the other into his arms. They fall down to the ground together. Sorey’s hand finds Mikleo’s head, bringing it close to his chest as they roll across the ground. Eventually, they come to a stop, Sorey still holding Mikleo tightly against him.

He’s real. He can feel Mikleo’s body for the first time in years, as though no time has passed at all. Tears fall from Sorey’s eyes.

“Mikleo, you’ve remembered, you really …”

But his words fade when he realises how cold Mikleo is. He pulls Mikleo away from himself gently, inspecting his face. Despite being overcome by the joy of finally remembering Sorey, Mikleo cannot bask in it; his eyes are closed, pants escaping chapped lips, his face paler than Sorey has ever seen it.

Yet even so, one eye opens. A hand raises, Sorey puzzled over why –

Then shards of ice plant themselves into the remaining clones produced by Symonne, who were about to attack Sorey from behind. The single arte is far too much to handle. Mikleo screams in agony, collapsing back onto the floor. Sorey’s mind flashes back to the lesson he heard time and time again; never use magic when your mana is far too low for it.

And Mikleo must be running on empty by now.

“Using your own life force to protect him?” Symonne cackles, now standing alone. “Oh, how _romantic.”_

“ _Shut it!”_ Sorey screams. His hands grasp Mikleo’s body frantically, his eyes darting to Symonne to ensure she’s not preparing another attack, although she seems to simply be enjoying the show. “Mikleo, say something, please –”

“So-Sorry,” Mikleo gasps out, Sorey unsure if he feels relieved or even more worried from this voice. “I … must have really scared y-you, there …”

“Don’t do anything else, okay? Please Mikleo, you have to promise …”

Sorey fights back further tears. He can’t have this happen. Mikleo cannot die, not after how long it took Sorey to find him, not after how much Mikleo has already suffered …

“Now he is free, I suppose it may just be harder to conjure my clones,” says Symonne, lifting her hand. “But I have enough of my own mana left to finish you off. Then we will find a new mage, one with the same calibre of magic. It’s all _so_ very easy. Child’s play, almost. I’m sure there’s another pair just like you in the world, foolishly holding onto each other with all they have, even though fate will tear them apart anyway.”

There is no answer. Or at least, not instantly. Sorey first places Mikleo gently back onto the ground, checking first to see if the mage is still breathing. Then he rises to his feet. His eyes burn with a rage unlike any he has ever had before. It is enough to make Symonne shudder when they meet with hers.

“Is that all people are to you? Tools to be used? Will you really keep on making others suffer like this?” His voice is frighteningly calm, as though he is in a state of tranquil fury.

“Would you say that humans are anything different to that?” Symonne questions. She speaks in her usual voice, despite the way Sorey’s stare, the way he is edging closer, sends a chill down her spine. “All we do is use each other. We keep others by our side until we no longer need them. Then we discard them, as though they meant nothing in the first place! What I have done is no different. Had you not been using him yourself, for your own happiness?”

Sorey shakes his head. “Yeah, he makes me happy. But I’m not using him for that. We just belong together, that’s all. We make _each other_ happy. Neither is using the other. Because when you love someone, you help them without a second thought. No thanks needed.”

“Those are just useless emotions that have no true worth.”

“If that is how you feel, then I really do feel sorry for you.”

No more words. Then, after tensing his legs, Sorey dashes in her direction. She brings up her staff, conjuring a swirl of dark magic, yet Sorey is too quick; it misses him by centimetres, and by the time she has prepared another attack, he is already directly in front of her.

“ _ARGH!”_ she screams as his sword plants itself in her side. Blood spurts from her mouth, her trembling legs collapsing underneath her as she falls to the ground. A weak hand attempts to reach for her staff, but Sorey’s boot kicks it far from her.

“That wound isn’t enough to kill someone with as much mana as you,” says Sorey. “I’ll send someone to arrest you. They’ll give you medical attention.”

“At least finish me off!” Symonne screams at him, her eyes bearing tears of fury. “Have you no shame as a warrior? Can you not at least finish off your opponent?”

“I’m not like you. I don’t kill unless I have to. It really is a shame, Symonne. You’ve always been powerful on your own. Yet you allowed yourself to be used by Heldalf, used artificial power that you didn’t even need. I pity you for that.”

Symonne grits her teeth, unable to find any words to give in response. Tears instead fall down her cheeks. Sorey, unable to find compassion for this, turns around and jogs back to Mikleo, still crumpled on the floor.

“Hey, Mikleo?” he says, turning the mage over by his shoulder. Mikleo lets out a painful cough, a sign, at least, that he is still alive. “I’ll get you out of here, okay? You’ll be safe soon, I promise.”

Sorey brings him closer, although he is shaking his head. “I don’t … I-I don’t think I’ll make it, Sorey.”

Teeth bite down on Sorey’s lip. He forces back the tears, his own worry that this is the truth. “You will. You’ve just got to hang on a little longer, okay? Please, Mikleo …”

Sorey swallows, begging silently that Mikleo will confirm this, that he will at least try. The turmoil, the damage Mikleo has endured – it could have all been prevented if Sorey had simply found him sooner. The fact that he has held on this long is a miracle.

And this miracle only continues when Mikleo nods weakly. He lets his head loll against Sorey’s chest, an arm resting across his stomach and another dangling limply as Sorey lifts him into his arms. It’s far different than the times Sorey used to do this as an act of romance.

“And what if you can’t save him?” Symonne addresses Sorey with a weak call. Her hands are clutching at her wound.

Sorey doesn’t allow these words to provoke him as he passes by. He does so as quickly as possible, whilst also making sure he does not jolt Mikleo’s body too much. “I will. I’ve promised I will for almost six years.”

“How can you let yourself be so hopeful? Why do you promise yourself this, only to likely cause yourself more suffering?” Symonne asks, watching Sorey’s back. He still hasn’t turned to her.

“Because I’d rather suffer than know I didn’t even try.”

 

* * *

 

Sorey is now descending the flight of stairs. The movements down them cause Mikleo to let out a quiet moan of pain. Guilt finds Sorey’s chest, even more so when he realises part of him is glad to hear it; he hates the thought of how much agony Mikleo must currently be in, yet every sound shows he is alive.

“Not much further,” Sorey says, trying to reassure him, yet he himself is panicking. Yes, he has almost reached the bottom of this huge flight of stairs, but what then? He still has to exit this vast building, travel down to the village … Can Mikleo even last that long, when ironically, his imprisonment seems to be the one thing which had still kept him alive?

Risking his life in order to save him. It only seemed suitable for how cruel Heldalf’s plans had been already.

‘ _Heldalf,’_ Sorey ends up thinking of the name. His fight with Symonne had distracted him from this. Heldalf must have been able to sense Mikleo’s freedom. No, he probably knew the moment that Mikleo’s prison had began to weaken. How long will it take for him to get here? How long exactly had it been, since that moment had happened?

Sorey does not fear Heldalf anymore. However, he knows that he cannot waste any more time.

‘ _Let us get through this, somehow,’_ Sorey says. He has never known for certain if gods exist, yet finds himself praying to them now. That they will be guided through this safely, that Mikleo will survive, that everything will return to how it had been before …

His prayers turn out to be answered.

“ _Sorey!”_ a voice bellows. Sorey’s eyes widen. Running towards him is Michael, red-faced and out of breath.

“What are you doing here?” Sorey asks. Michael bends over, clutching at his stomach as he gasps for breath, before he manages to speak.

“I saw you head here. I’ve had my suspicions of Heldalf, so I followed. Fought him along the way, managed to fend him off and get ahead. All my memories are back, everything –”

He stops as he straightens up, properly taking note of the limp figure in Sorey’s arms. He hadn’t fully taken it in at first, too desperate to speak to Sorey, as well as how their face is buried into Sorey’s chest. Their hair, their beautiful, pure white hair, is far longer than it has ever been.

Michael’s mouth opens to speak, yet he is soon swivelling around instead when he sees Sorey’s eyes widen, looking past him. He barely has chance to unsheathe his sword and block an arte. It is strong enough to force him back, yet he succeeds in blocking it, allowing the arte to not touch Sorey and Mikleo at all.

“Heldalf!” Sorey shouts out, fury returning to his eyes as he sees the figure walking towards them.

The man says, “This is a surprise, I admit. I’ve kept my eye on you all this time, yet even so, you still managed to figure it out without me knowing …”

“Michael, look after him,” says Sorey, hurrying to place Mikleo down by the side. Michael crouches, taking his nephew’s body into his arms. A pale hand gently brushes hair away from Mikleo’s face. It causes him to stir, eyes opened only partially.

“U-Uncle, you …” he whispers, Michael immediately shaking his head.

“Please, Mikleo, don’t say anything,” he requests, concerned that every word Mikleo speaks could harm him. Michael curses himself for being so weak, to not wield the same healing prowess as his sister … _‘Hurry, Muse,’_ he thinks, feeling hopeless as he watches Sorey and Heldalf close the space between each other.

The tallest of the two curls his lips into a smile. “How your eyes burn, young warrior. Although perhaps after all these years, ‘young’ is not the word to use.”

“Is that supposed to mock me?” Sorey questions.

“It is not. In fact, I am impressed that you managed to track us down when you had no leads at all, and then even fight off my powerful assistant. I respect that in you, which is why I would find it an insult to let you leave freely.”

“Yeah, I thought as much,” says Sorey, holding onto the handle of his sword tightly. Lighting already surrounds its blade. “I’m in a hurry, so let’s get through this quickly.”

Yet Heldalf raises a hand in order to stop him. “Although out of that respect and how impressed I am by your efforts, how about we strike a deal? I will admit that your mage’s mana still resides in me. It would be unfair and unbalanced if I were to use it. And so, let us only use martial artes in our fight. Let us see if after your years of training, you finally have enough power to defeat me.”

Sorey nods, allowing the lightning to disperse from his sword. “I don’t care about what rules we have. So long as I hurry up and beat you, so I can get Mikleo out of here!”

He lets out a yell as he sprints forward, swinging his sword to Heldalf. The man blocks it instantly. The two struggle, hands shaking from the force of each other’s swords, but Sorey is ready to be knocked back eventually; he jumps backwards, remaining on the balls of his feet as he launches another attack at Heldalf.

This feels different to his fight with Symonne. She, in desperation to fulfil her master’s duties, put everything she had into it. And in retaliation, Sorey’s anger had been at its peak. But now his mind focuses on one thing alone. To finish this as quickly as possible so he can finally get Mikleo out of here.

And perhaps Heldalf knows this. Especially with the stipulation he himself has made, he knows that Sorey will not accept anything else but victory. Anyone could see the passion that burns in Sorey. The passion and determination which will make him achieve victory, no matter what.

“I underestimated you, back on that day,” says Heldalf as he barely manages to dodge one of Sorey’s attacks, the tip of his blade ripping through clothing and scratching Heldalf’s shoulder. “I thought you were weak and naive, certainly not capable of fighting against us. It seems like I was proven wrong.”

Hedalf feigns an attack with his sword, before his fist is launched into the side of Sorey’s face. His instincts hadn’t been quick enough; with no time to brace himself, the attack causes him to fall onto the floor. He spits blood out of his mouth, bringing up his blade to block Heldalf’s sword.

“But it is still not enough,” says Heldalf. “I do not need your mage’s power to defeat you. I can achieve victory easily enough without it.”

To Heldalf’s surprise, Sorey grins. “Nah, you don’t really believe that. You know that you’re going to lose here. Because I’m as stubborn as ever, and I refuse to go down after chasing you all these years.”

Sorey’s leg shoots forward, tripping Heldalf up with a kick to the back of his calves. The sorcerer stumbles, having to roll out the way of Sorey’s sword. He wastes no time in getting back to his feet, leaving the two facing each other.

Their attacks continue. It is almost like a dance, the way they exchange their swings of their swords, their bodies’ hits – they almost fight in the same way, now neither are using magic. It manages to bring disappointment to Sorey. Heldalf might have been a good man long ago. Sorey can tell how much practice and dedication has gone into his skills. And yet he has ruined all that hard work, all of his struggles, by committing a crime which Sorey will never forgive.

‘ _I can’t keep doing this,’_ Sorey says, taking a glance for only a second at Michael and Mikleo. The latter seems to be unconscious, Michael unable to tear his eyes away from the fight as he keeps his nephew in his arms. _‘There’s no time.’_

And perhaps Heldalf thinks the same. In an instant, he does something else which disappoints and angers Sorey, as a warrior who stands strong by regulations in fights; Heldalf has jumped back, his hands positioned in a way that Sorey himself has done many times.

He knows this arte himself, after all, being taught it by a good friend. And if Heldalf will break his own stipulation, then Sorey can do the same.

“ _Lion’s Howl!”_ Sorey bellows, sending the same arte as Heldalf. Due to Sorey having a little more speed than his opponent, he manages to unleash it at the same time; the beasts collide, the force managing to launch both Sorey and Heldalf back.

“ _Sorey!_ Are you all right?” Michael shouts as Sorey’s back hits against a wall. Although he winces as he picks himself up off the floor, Sorey nods.

“I expected him to do something dirty like that sooner or later,” Sorey says, getting up to his feet. His grip tightens on his sword enough for his knuckles to turn white. Bright, crimson flames surround it, casting an orange glow on his body. “That was a big mistake, Heldalf. Using what you have left of Mikleo’s magic against me? You’ve really gone and done it now.”

“That is what makes you weaker than I,” says Heldalf. Darkness swirls around him, the aura of which might have made Sorey shiver, had he not been so furious. “You allow emotions to control you. You allow yourself to be consumed by your own passion.”

“So what if I do? It’s that passion which brought me here in the first place.” Sorey swings his sword to Heldalf before the sorcerer has chance to finish conjuring his arte; the flames consume him, causing Heldalf to scream in pain. Far too hurt by the man to let this noise affect him, Sorey is soon casting another arte, this time slashing the man with blades of wind. “And I think you act on the same emotions, in the end,” Sorey continues. He dodges out of the way of an attack, sending Heldalf back with a fury of lightning. “I can see now, why you crave power so much. You really do care for your country, and want to do what you can for it. But you grew far too hungry for power. You allowed yourself to do the unthinkable to achieve it.”

“So you’re saying that the life of a single person is more important than what I used him for? To protect others?” Heldalf asks. He blocks another attack from Sorey, surprising himself by how he is losing. Perhaps he really had relied on the mage’s magic far too much. Perhaps now it is sapping away from him, he cannot remember how he can fight without it.

Either that, or the warrior’s emotions really are so strong, they are making him unstoppable.

“I’ve never liked the whole ‘sacrifice one for the many’ thing, if it can be avoided. Especially if I love that person.” Sorey is not fazed by Heldalf launching a strike at him, instead retaliating with a blast of wind. “Sorry. I’m just that stubborn.”

Sorey can feel himself reaching the end of his mana by now, but hope flickers in him, telling him that this will end soon; he focuses on martial artes to bring down Heldalf’s guard, before conjuring his magic once again.

Looking back, Heldalf will realise he could have fought against it, but had in fact lost the will to fight in knowing just how resolved Sorey truly is.

And his mistake is allowing himself to fall to the floor, for a blade will be positioned at his neck. Although it does not belong to the man he has been fighting.

“Would you be mad if I killed him, Sorey?” says a girl’s voice.

“Not really. But I think that he should be locked away, along with Symonne. Give him chance to think about all he’s done.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Heldalf’s arms are soon being pinned roughly against his back, ropes being looped around them. He cannot even bring himself to scowl. He has no idea what to say or feel, when he is still stunned by the display of Sorey.

The warrior is now watching as a few Scattered Bones members rush past Rose and Dezel, seeming to know that Symonne is situated up the long flight of stairs. Sorey is about to speak to Rose, questioning how she knew, but a figure running past grabs his attention.

“Is he still alive, brother?” Muse pants, falling down onto her knees by her brother and son. Sorey is quick to join them; he has no idea how long it had took to take Heldalf down, nor does he want to. Muse is holding back tears as her hands cup Mikleo’s face.

“He is, but only barely,” Michael responds. “Muse, can you do something?”

“I cannot heal him properly, for it’s an issue with mana above all else. He has no injuries to heal. But … But there’s something I can try, to channel my mana into his own. It might do the trick.”

“Then please, Muse,” says Sorey. The mother doesn’t need to be told twice. She takes one of Mikleo’s hands, freezing to touch, into her own. She proceeds to place it above his chest. Then her eyes close, her lips speaking silent words.

Everyone looks on silently. Even Heldalf, who has been brought to his feet and is held onto by two Scattered Bones members, watches without a word. The tension in the air fades as a golden glow bathes over both mother and son. Tiny specks, almost like dust, can be seen within it. These particles are absorbed by Mikleo, Muse panting as the light around them dies.

“I could only give him a tiny amount,” she whispers, unable to stop a tear from falling from her eye. “I can’t imagine it would be …”

But she lets out a gasp as she sees Mikleo stir. His eyes open slowly, only able to stare above him for a moment before they blink, taking in the figures around him and his uncle’s arms holding him.

“I’m … alive?” he questions. Muse lets out a delighted laugh, holding Mikleo’s hand to her chest.

“You are. You really, really are … Oh Mikleo, you really did pull through.”

Sorey has only been able to watch silently, joyous tears streaming down his face. Until, that is, Mikleo’s eyes find him.

“Hey,” says Sorey softly. “I have to request for you to not go dying on me, from now on.”

Mikleo smiles from amusement, wincing slightly. “You did it. You really did find me, and …” Mikleo’s eyes find Heldalf, still held captive.

“The warrior won,” says Heldalf in a monotone voice. “I will accept that loss and face the consequences. Perhaps one day, my actions will be understood.”

“How dare you –” Michael says, but Rose is quick to interrupt him.

“He’s only saying that for show. Sorey’s gotten through to him, I reckon.”

Sorey nods. “Maybe. But I don’t care if I have or not. All I care about is getting Mikleo home at last.”

The words cause Michael to hold Mikleo out to Sorey without a second thought. Sorey is once again lifting Mikleo into his arms, smiling because even though the mage’s body is still weak, even if it may never be the same again, it’s not as cold as it was before.

And Mikleo is smiling too. Right back at Sorey, just like he used to. His head falls against Sorey’s chest, unable to stop his own tears.

“You always did like carrying me like this,” he says. “How did I ever forget that?”

Sorey lifts Mikleo a little higher in order to be able to reach his lips with his own. For the first time in far too long, they meet in a gentle kiss, bursting with the love and affection they have missed out on all these years. The soft, simple gesture held something stronger behind it, something which causes the others to look on in silence, filled with a happiness unlike they have ever experienced before.

Sorey parts from Mikleo’s lips slowly. He realises now how much he has missed those lips. But now, he will have the chance to kiss them as much as he likes again.

“Come on,” he says. “We have six years to catch up on.”

 

* * *

 

The sweet song of birds resounds underneath the morning sun. It helps to warm the cool spring morning, enveloping everything beneath it in its shine. Blades of grass blow gently in the wind, with flowerbeds seeming to dance in it also.

They are such simple things. Those who have it right there in front of them have no idea how beautiful it all truly is. It’s easy to take something simple for granted, after all. You see it so much that it means little to you.

But Mikleo has not experienced any of it for many long years. The wind which blows through his long hair feels heavenly, as does the grass underneath his feet. Everything in front of him is like something out of a dream. And he is only in the garden. That’s what makes his freedom all the more exciting. He knows how much lies beneath that endless stretch of sky. To someone who had remained captive in the same room for years, it is hard to believe that such freedom exists at all.

A shiver runs down Mikleo’s spine over the thought of that room. It has been a month now, since he had been freed. But the physical and mental damage from that imprisonment will likely last a lifetime. He wakes up from almost every slumber from nightmares. Had Sorey not been there to help him through that, he doubts he could have dealt with those traumatic moments.

Had Sorey not been there at all, Mikleo would not even be sitting here right now.

After a mug of tea is placed onto the ground next to Mikleo, strong, warm arms take him into an embrace from behind. A kiss is placed on the top of his head. “Let me know if you need to go back inside.”

Mikleo smiles, leaning back against Sorey as he reaches for the mug. “I’m fine for now. But thank you.”

He’s still unable to walk, he has been harmed so much. But he’s getting there, even if slowly. He can now sit outside like this for some time as long as he returns to bed, in which he had permanently been in for the first three weeks, and will be expected to walk again as more weeks pass. Though it’s still questionable about if he will be able to use magic again. He had been sapped of everything he had, and his body is struggling to generate any more.

But he’s alive. And despite how he always thought that his studies and practice of magic were his main focus in life, now he has been freed and can live again, he realises that this is not the case. There is so much out there waiting for him. Magic or not, he has a life to live. And it is all thanks to the man who is now sitting by Mikleo’s side, bringing their lips together for a kiss. It feels as it has always done, only Sorey’s body feels more toned than before, and the stubble above his lip tickles Mikleo at times when they kiss.

That is another simple thing that Mikleo will never take for granted anymore.

“I received a letter from Eizen, by the way,” Sorey says as he parts. “He and Edna are on their way to meet you. Then you would have finally met all the friends I made!”

Mikleo smiles. “I can’t wait. Your friends have been … unique, that’s for sure. But you all feel like family, in a way.”

“Yeah, for sure. And even though I went to do the final fight alone, they helped me find the answers I needed to find you. So I’ll always be in their debt for that.”

Mikleo’s heart swells, as it always does when this topic comes up. He shuffles closer to Sorey, leaning his head against Sorey’s shoulder, his hair falling down against the other’s body.

“I can never thank you enough for saving me,” he says quietly. He closes his eyes as an arm wraps around his shoulders, bringing him even closer.

“And I can never say enough how it’s not something I need to be thanked for. I always knew you were gone and that I couldn’t move on without you. I just wish I could have done so sooner.”

Mikleo shakes his head. “You saved my life. It doesn’t matter how long it took. And the fact that you did all that was possible, even though you had nothing but my circlet and a gut feeling …” Mikleo’s head turns, burying itself in the crook of Sorey’s neck. He didn’t want Sorey to see that his eyes are glistening with tears. He lets out a light laugh. “I mean, you searched the entire continent.”

“I guess I did,” Sorey says, finally feeling some amusement again.

“Every inch, basically. I still can’t believe you’d do that for someone you couldn’t even remember.”

“Well, it was you, after all.” Sorey’s fingers stroke through Mikleo’s hair, his eyes watching as the last colours of sunrise fade from the sky, replaced with a bright blue. It will be a gorgeous day. “It didn’t matter that I couldn’t remember who you were. All that mattered is that it had been _you_ I lost. That was enough for me to search for as long as I had to. To find you, no matter the cost.”

“And that’s how I was able to wait that long, too.”

Sorey smiles sadly. He gently lifts up Mikleo’s head, wiping away a single tear with his thumb. “You were strong. The fact that you’re here now, as you always were, is incredible. I’m not the only one to thank.”

Mikleo’s eyes close as Sorey leans in for a kiss. It is gentle with a lingering sweetness, the softness of each other’s lips as captivating as they had always been.

“Thank you for waiting for me, Mikleo. Thank you for knowing I’ll always find you.”


End file.
